The reporters and cameramen erupted the moment I stepped out of the car. They usually got excited, but tonight felt different—charged, almost electric. I wasn't sure if it was the shirtless Givenchy suit, or the fact that this was my first public appearance in the United States since the release of [The Dark Knight]. Whatever the reason, the energy was surreal.
"TROY!"
"I LOVE YOU!"
"MARRY ME!"
A small cluster of fans was gathered in a cordoned-off section behind a wall of security. Their chants rang out above the din, sharp and full of emotion. On the carpet, reporters were already shouting over one another, tossing out disjointed questions that blurred together in the noise. I ignored them. Reporters would come and go. Loyal fans stayed—if you treated them right.
I veered off course and walked toward the group of fans. Their faces lit up as I approached, and I waved before reaching for a poster and pen offered by a girl standing just behind one of the larger bodyguards. I unfolded the poster, then paused.
It wasn't a print or a studio-issued promo. It was hand-drawn. A striking rendition of my Joker, detailed and intense, with the movie title scribbled below in stylized font. At the top, in bold letters, was my name—something none of the official posters had.
I looked up, genuinely impressed. "This is amazing."
"Thank you," she beamed, cheeks flushed with excitement. "We've met before. I made a pillow for you, remember?"
I squinted for a second, thinking back. "Ah, yes... Serena?"
Her jaw dropped. "Holy shit," she whispered, barely believing it. "Troy Armitage knows my name."
I chuckled as I signed the poster. "Of course I do. I loved that pillow you gave me."
I was also exceptionally good with names, which helped.
After handing her the signed poster, I took her hand and gave it a quick kiss—the same hand that had drawn that incredible artwork. That simple gesture made her burst into tears, sobbing into the crowd. I wanted to hug her, to offer a few calming words, but the schedule wouldn't allow for it. There were still dozens of fans waiting.
I signed a few more posters, autographed some CDs, snapped a few selfies. I was just about to head inside when something completely unexpected happened.
A girl around my age suddenly broke through the barrier and sprinted onto the red carpet. Before anyone could react, she latched onto me in a tight embrace. If it had just been a hug, I wouldn't have minded. But the problem was, she had taken full advantage of my open suit, slipping her fingers (with very sharp nails) inside my jacket, in direct contact with my bare torso. Her nails jabbed into my skin as she clung to me, screaming uncontrollably.
Security moved instantly, closing in with expert precision to pull her away, but I raised a hand to stop them. Not because I was enjoying the attention, far from it, but because I knew that if they pulled her off with force, she'd leave deep scratch marks across my back.
"Hey," I said gently, trying not to sound alarmed, "can you please let me go?"
"Never," she said, her voice serious and trembling with emotion. "This is a dream come true. If I let go, it'll be over."
"Take a picture then," I offered, keeping my tone light. "It'll last longer. Or maybe you can kiss me instead of... this?"
It was borderline assault, but for the sake of keeping the situation calm—and preventing bloodshed—I had to tolerate it. The worst part was the reaction of the media. The cameramen standing nearby were recording the whole incident like it was some lighthearted, romantic comedy moment, laughing without concern.
"Oh hell yes! I'd love to kiss you." She moved toward me, her hands still clamped around my torso, but I placed a firm hand in front of her face.
"Let go of me first," I said, more firmly this time.
Reluctantly, she did as asked, and the moment she released me, my security team stepped in and hauled her away with practiced efficiency. She didn't go quietly.
"You can't do this to me, Troy! You are the love of my life! You promised that you'd make sweet love to me forever! I will be the mother of your children!"
Even as she was being escorted off the carpet, she kept shouting, drawing attention from everyone within earshot. I stood there for a second, torn between being furious with my security for not stopping her earlier or bursting out laughing at her bizarre theatrics. Eventually, I chose neither and continued walking down the red carpet, acting as if none of it had happened.
"Troy!" a female reporter called out, thrusting a mic into my personal space. Her blonde hair was pulled back tightly, and she was dressed in a fitted red blazer. "That was quite a fan interaction."
"Eh, I've gotten used to it by now," I said casually, waving it off. "I've had even more intense fan moments over the years."
She nodded like a seasoned journalist. "Makes sense, given your popularity, especially among the younger generation. So, [The Night Of] has received fourteen nominations tonight, with you nominated in Best Actor and Best Mini Series. You're also up for Best Guest Actor for your appearance in [Extras]. How do you feel about your chances to win tonight?"
I had almost forgotten about that last one. I hadn't even submitted the episode for consideration, but Benji had taken the liberty of doing it on my behalf. And now, here I was with three nominations in one night.
"Honestly? I'm just here to enjoy the night and have some fun," I replied with a grin. "At this point in my career, award wins are just a bonus on top of getting to meet all the talented people present here."
Before she could ask another question, I gave her a polite nod and continued walking, finally entering the Nokia Theatre, where the 60th Emmy Awards were being held.
Inside, the atmosphere was electric. The auditorium buzzed with elegance and star power, every corner filled with a recognizable face or two. The first person I noticed was Tina Fey, standing beside Amy Poehler and Alec Baldwin, deep in conversation. The three of them looked as though they were planning a sketch right there.
Scanning the room further, I spotted Michael C. Hall from [Dexter], Jon Hamm from [Mad Men], and Hugh Laurie, the legendary Dr. House himself. Each one of them stood tall in well-tailored suits, surrounded by their teams or fellow nominees.
I glanced around, trying to spot my mum. She had walked in earlier while I was still caught up in that chaotic fan interaction, but I couldn't see her. Instead, my eyes landed on an old colleague of mine, Steve Carell.
"Troy!" he called out, his face lighting up as he approached and wrapped me in a warm, familiar hug.
"Hey, Steve! How you doing?" I asked, returning the gesture with a smile.
"I'm great!" he said enthusiastically, then gestured toward the two men standing beside him. "Have you met Matt Stone and Trey Parker, the creators of [South Park]?"
Only then did I realize who they were. These were the two men whose personal information I had once leaked online. It was years ago, an impulsive act of revenge. Looking back, it definitely hadn't been my finest moment. There had been far better ways to handle things.
Steve either didn't know our history or had completely forgotten about it.
As soon as I looked into Matt Stone's eyes, I could tell he found this introduction just as ironic as I did. A mischievous grin spread across his face, and I couldn't help but chuckle. Soon, our chuckles turned into full-blown laughter as Matt, Trey, and I laughed our asses off, while Steve stood confused to the side, unaware of the reason.
"Matt, Trey," I said after regaining my composure, "I want to apologize for the move I pulled on you two. It was nasty, and I shouldn't have done that."
"You know," Matt began, "I don't have a problem with your reaction. I can take a cruel joke. The issue was that Trey and I wanted to rebut. We had written a full episode focused on your reaction to the first episode, but Comedy Central shut it down. They said in no uncertain terms that there can be no jokes about you, Harry Potter, or any movie you had appeared in. All because you targeted their CEO as well."
I winced internally. As much as I had boasted to different people about the fact that they never retaliated, it stung a little knowing the reason was simply that they weren't allowed to. I had reached a point in my career where maintaining animosity with a talented writing duo like Matt and Trey seemed trivial and pointless.
"That's not fair," I said. "How about this: write a fresh episode making fun of me, and I'll voice myself in it."
Matt's eyes widened, and he looked at Trey, who had a similar reaction.
"Are you sure?" Trey asked.
"Hell yeah," I grinned. "I'm currently shooting in London, so I won't be able to come back here for it. But I'm sure Comedy Central would arrange a recording session for me in London."
"Of course they will," Trey replied.
I chatted a bit more with the two of them and with Steve before continuing my search for Mum. She had already gone inside and taken her assigned seat, so I headed there as well.
"You took your time getting here," Mum noted.
I shrugged. "I ran into Steve Carell and a few of his friends. We got talking."
Mum nodded. "I hope they start soon. I'm already feeling tired of it."
Just then, a bald man came up and sat beside me. For a moment, I didn't recognize him, but he recognized me immediately.
"Hey! Troy! Thank you so much for letting me do [Breaking Bad]!"
The moment he said that, I recognized him. I was more used to seeing Bryan Cranston with hair in the latter part of his career. Even in [Breaking Bad], when he was bald, he had that badass beard. But right now, he had no visible hair at all except his eyebrows.
"You've done a brilliant job on the show," I assured him. "Mark my words, you won't go home empty-handed tonight. I voted for you, and not just because I financed the show. I really think you're the best actor in your category."
"Thank you," he nodded gratefully.
Before we could continue talking, a lady moved on to the stage and called out.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Oprah Winfrey opened the show, gaining everyone's attention, before introducing not one, not two, not three, but five hosts for the evening.
I inched closer to Mum and whispered, "Why do I have a feeling this will only go downhill from here?"
Mum chuckled before nodding. "Five hosts are too much."
(Timeskip)
"Please welcome the biggest superstar in the world, the latest Emmy winner, and the man who rocked audiences everywhere with his portrayal of the Joker in [The Dark Knight], Troy Armitage," Jay Leno announced jovially, just as I stepped onto the brightly lit stage.
The studio lights shone down on me as the audience jumped to their feet, clapping and cheering. Their energy was electric, and it always felt surreal to stand in front of a live crowd that excited. I waved at them, flashing a quick grin, then made my way across the stage with confident strides. Jay stood up to greet me, and I shook his hand warmly.
"Congratulations, man!" Jay said, gesturing toward the armchair beside his desk. "I mean, look at you. Emmy in one hand, Gotham in the other."
Laughter rippled through the audience. I chuckled and took my seat, adjusting my jacket (that had a shirt this time) as the applause gradually died down.
"I think I'm not exaggerating when I say that you created movie history with [The Dark Knight]," Jay continued. "I have never been as surprised by the closing credits of a movie as I was with your presence. It was truly unbelievable what you did with that character."
"Thank you," I said, nodding with genuine appreciation.
Jay leaned in slightly. "How exactly did you do that? Your co-stars have spoken about your method, but I want to hear it from you."
Straight to the point. I had hoped he would want to talk about the Emmy win from the night before, at least briefly, but he'd jumped right into the Joker talk.
"I did something I wouldn't recommend to anyone," I said, half-serious.
Jay raised an eyebrow. "What did you do, Troy?"
I laughed along with the audience. "I cut everyone out of my life. My parents, my friends, and even the internet. Just so I could fully focus on the role of the Joker. My first proper conversation in weeks was when I walked onto the studio lot to meet Christopher Nolan and Christian Bale for rehearsals."
Jay gave a theatrical wince. "Ooh, that's a dedicated actor if I've seen one. It's fascinating to see you go from a wrongfully accused man in [The Night Of] to a psychotic clown in [The Dark Knight], which, by the way, scared the hell out of my mother. She hasn't trusted birthday clowns since."
The audience burst out laughing. I joined in. "Actually, taking inspiration from my role, I once dressed as a clown and went to a kid's birthday party."
Jay recoiled in mock horror. "You cruel monster. What had the kids done to you?"
The studio roared. I clapped along, appreciating his timing. Jay Leno really was a seasoned host. Sharp, funny, and quick on his feet.
"I prefer tough love," I said with a grin. "I taught those kids how to face their fears."
"Oh yeah?" Jay replied instantly. "Well, I'd rather live perpetually in fear than have you show up as a clown at my next birthday."
I laughed again, then noticed Jay shifting gears.
He leaned forward slightly, resting his arms on the desk. "You're also one of the richest people in the world. Do you think you'll ever leave it all behind and retire early?"
"I'm nineteen," I said plainly, raising my eyebrows to emphasize the point.
Jay looked confused. "I don't see your point."
"I could've retired four or five years ago if I really wanted to," I explained. "I had more money than I knew what to do with. Could've bought out my Warner Bros contract and still had enough to live comfortably forever. But I didn't. Because I love what I do. Same as you, I guess."
Jay grinned. "True." Then he shifted the conversation. "Let's talk about this small indie film you're working on right now, [Harry Potter]."
The crowd erupted into wild cheers at the mention of the name. The energy in the studio spiked, with fans whistling and applauding enthusiastically.
"Yeah, we're currently shooting the seventh and last [Harry Potter] movie in London, and we're nearly halfway done with it," I said, sitting comfortably but with a hint of weariness behind my smile. It had been an intense few months of shooting.
"Would you do another [Harry Potter] movie after this one?" Jay asked, leaning forward, the question loaded with curiosity.
Hell no. But I wouldn't say that out loud, not with the pressure of studio executives and marketing teams watching, and certainly not when box office numbers for [Deathly Hallows] were on the line.
"I don't think it would make sense to make another movie when J.K. Rowling has wrapped up the seventh book so beautifully," I replied with measured calm. "That said, I won't say no to anything prematurely. As long as the script is really good and not just a cash grab, anything is possible."
"That's admirable," Jay said with a laugh, nodding approvingly. "But seriously, man. You've had a huge year. You won two Emmys just yesterday and are the highest-grossing and richest actor in the world. And next... you'll be adding another Oscar to your growing list of achievements."
"That's nice of you to say that," I said, shaking my head with a small smile. "But I don't think it will happen."
"Why not?"
"I have this mantra of sorts," I said. "Keep working your best without expecting anything in return. So far, it has worked wonders for me."
Jay nodded thoughtfully, appreciating the wisdom in the answer. "So what's next for you?"
I leaned back slightly and gave it a moment's thought. "Honestly? A vacation. Somewhere remote. As soon as [Harry Potter] is over, I'm going incognito for weeks, if not months."
Jay chuckled, turning back to the crowd. "Well, wherever you go, man, you've earned it. Troy Armitage, everybody!"
The applause rose again as the band kicked in, the camera panning to the audience's faces, cheering, clapping, some even holding signs. I smiled and waved, soaking in the moment before the screen faded to a commercial.
(Break)
Bonus Scene:
"And the Emmy for the Outstanding Lead Actor in a Miniseries or Movie goes to: Troy Armitage."
A beat passed. Then thunderous applause.
I rose from my seat, momentarily stunned, before hugging Mum tightly. Not long after that, I made my way to the stage under the brilliant lights. All around me, acclaimed actors were on their feet, clapping for a teenager. The standing ovation felt unreal, like something out of a dream I hadn't dared to imagine.
I took the trophy and stood before the mic, heart racing.
"Thank you to the Academy for this great honor," I began, glancing across the sea of faces. "The biggest reason I could do this show at all is because of my mother, Kathy Kloves. I remember when I was a kid and told my parents that I wanted to be a child actor. Mum was the first one to protest because she knew how difficult this life was. But when I didn't budge, she did, and she made sure with her whole being that I would become the best actor in the world. So this award is for you, Mum. Love you."
Applause echoed again, but my eyes were already searching for her. I found her in the front row, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief, a proud and emotional smile on her face. When she noticed me looking, she mouthed, I love you too.
That moment, more than the trophy, more than the stage, was the biggest award I could have received that night.
________________________
AN: Visit my personal website to read ahead, or check out my second Hollywood story set in the 80s.
Link: www(dot)fablefic(dot)com